


A Line Made Thin

by TashaElizabeth



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Adam, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/TashaElizabeth





	A Line Made Thin

“You should go out,” Adam said.

Ianto raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the computer screen. He was sitting at Jack’s desk, finishing some of Jack’s neglected administrative work.

“I’m serious. You should go out.”

“I’m fine,” Ianto said, glancing over at a pile of paperwork and then at Adam. “Did you want something?”

Adam shook his head. “I’m fine.” He fiddled with a pen on the end of Jack’s desk, delaying his exit. Ianto stopped typing and gave Adam a longer look.

“What going on?” Ianto asked.

“Nothing,” Adam insisted. “I just think you should go out. For a drink. And take Owen with you.”

Ianto leaned forward in his seat and caught a glimpse of Owen, pacing between desks.

“Why would I do that?”

Adam moved awkwardly around the desk and put his hand on Ianto’s arm. “Because he’s obsessed with you, remember?”

Ianto did remember. The stares. The nervous fumbling. The anxious loss of speech whenever Ianto walked into the room.

Ianto looked to Adam, then back at Owen.

“Remember?”

-

Two drinks and less than an hour later, Ianto had Owen pressed firmly against his front door. Ianto’s hands were on Owen’s hips and the kissing was open mouthed and anxious, punctuated every so often by a scratch on Ianto’s side when Owen forgot the keys still clutched in his hand.

“Let’s…” Owen gasped, pulling back until his head hit the wood. “Let’s get inside.”

“Now,” Ianto agreed.

Owen turned between Ianto’s hand and missed the lock twice as Ianto pressed firmly against his back. Ianto’s breath came out in hot little pants all over the back of Owen’s neck, his nose pushed into Owen’s hair as the door opened and they stumbled inside, Ianto’s hands pressing flat against the planes of Owen’s body.

Ianto kicked the door shut and pushed, shoving Owen through the surprisingly nice living space, towards the bed. Owen pivoted again, colliding bodily into Ianto and opening his mouth to speak.

Ianto tugged Owen’s sweater over his head, skewing his glasses and ruffling his hair.

“I…” Owen said.

Ianto had to kiss him again.

Owen pulled away, looking down.

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here,” Owen said, his fingers playing with the buttons of Ianto’s shirt. “I mean…if I don’t stack up...”

Ianto put a hand on either side of Owen’s face and kissed him, firmly. Owen’s hands went to his wrists and they stayed like that a moment, suspended. When they parted, Owen’s eyes stayed closed.

“I can show you things, Dr. Harper,” Ianto teased. Owen's breath caught and he blushed, then pushed Ianto’s jacket to the floor and pulled back, back until his knees hit the bed and he tumbled into the sheets.

Ianto knelt and tugged off Owen’s shoes and socks, taking advantage of the position to slide his hands up Owen’s trouser legs and briefly grasp his shins. As far as he could feel, Owen’s skin was a long expanse of goose bumps.

Ianto went for Owen’s buttons, pulling off the rest of his clothing, pressing his lips to Owen’s knee and then kissing every bony corner and curve until he reached Owen’s jaw. He rolled to his side and Ianto pulled up close behind him, laying one hand on his hip and pressing down, loving the stretch and pull of Owen’s side, wanting to kiss there, as Owen wriggled against Ianto’s mostly clothed body.

Owen stretched to the bedside table and grabbed a bottle out of a drawer, passing over his shoulder to Ianto. Ianto briefly examined the label, then coated his hands and pressed, softly, gently, _there_.

It was then Ianto lost all sense of time and space because Owen, _Owen_, stuttering, doe eyed Owen, still half wearing his glasses, let out this wanton moan and pushed back hard against his hand, creaking the bedsprings and swinging his head back precariously close to Ianto’s chin.

“Oh, God,” Owen said between his teeth, then started a hissing, harsh, desperate litany of, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, fuck me, Ianto, please.”

Owen’s hand was rigid, clawing at nothing, each finger tensed. Ianto could think of nothing to do but oblige him.

Ianto didn’t quite get his clothes off, but it didn’t matter. Owen was a hot, squirming, mewing, cursing wreck, shaking and begging, “Please, Ianto. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me.” Ianto skipped a big middle section of his seduction plan and just pushed into Owen, eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation, nails clawing, groans mingling together as they found a rhythm that brought them both down, down to that small place where the shudders took over their bodies and wrung out all the memories in their minds.


End file.
